One:
by MysticWombat
Summary: District One's Quinn Scarlet has been chosen to participate in the hunger games first annual quarter quell with her best friend and boyfriend, Sterling. I suck at descriptions, Happy Birthday


"Oh yes, this one is perfect." Mother fingers the glittery pastel pink dress that is draped across my bed.

"Do i really have to go to this thing?" i sigh, playing with a lock of my white blonde hair.

"of course!" her face twists in surprise "the pre-reaping ball is just as important as the actual reaping!"

The ball is the only formal event District One celebrates together, even if it is about sending off their children to get murdered, it's very important. If you don't show up, you're considered an outcast, that doesn't have the pride or skill needed to represent your district in the anual Hunger Games. In most districts, being chosen as tribute of your district is seen as a horror, somethig to be feared.

Not here, In my district it is seen as a chance to honour your homeland, to have a fun little scrimage with other children. Not the bloodbath the hunger games actually is. I'm one of the few sane people in district one, the few people who see the games as they really are; a bloodthirsty battle we're all forced to be apart of. The pre-reaping ball is tonight, and we just now found my dress.

"will you please cooperate? The ball starts in ten minutes, and we just now got that hideous paint out from under your nails." Mother never approved of my hobby, i liked to paint great landscapes and vivid portraits, while she preferred me to do dull things like train for the games -illegally- or do my hair and other petty things.

"Jenny, Honey? Can you please bring me my cuff links?" father calls from across the room. Mother bites her lip and lets go of my hand, scurrying into the next room.

Yeah, people have the stupidest names here. For example, my mother's name is Magenta, my father is Ebony, my sister is Diamond.. And me? My name is, wait for it, Sequins. What the hell kind of name is Sequins?! Of course, i would never let people call me that. I go by Quinn.

Me, our maid Ginger from district twelve, and my family live in a big estate right at the edge of One, in a small crescent people call, 'Districts Point' it the richest place in One, and also right on the edge of the Capitol's city limits, so we're all basially Capitol citizens, we have the privelage of being allowed to enter and exit the capitol as we please. From the stories Ginger has told me, We're much luckier than those in Twelve, they just barely scrape by, half a family's worth of people dying everyday from starvation, and disease. meanwhile we're rolling in caviar and dollar bills, sitting in the capitol's lap. The whole system is just sick.

I grimace to myself as i slide the pastel straps up my arms.

"Sequin hurry up!"

"i'm coming!" i snap

"don't use that tone with me."

"if i keep going, will you ground me?" i ask half heartedly.

"No." knew it. "if anything, your punishment will be _going _to the ball"

Oh great, that plan backfired, bigtime. I sigh heavily and trudge down the stairs. I am met with gasps and sqeals. "Oh Quinny you look so beautiful!" my father claps his hands together, my older sister hanging on his arm. "Oh who did your hair?" her face lights up as she sees the dark brown braid snaking down my back.

"Mom." I shrug indifferently, "it's just curled, no big deal."

"i found it challenging" Mother says defensively I roll my eyes and slide into my black pea coat.

"can we please just go? Might as well get it over with."

"oh such enthusiasm." father chuckles at my pout.

"well you can't expect me to be happy about this." i grumble.

"No, but i expect you to tough through it," he replies.

"besides," Mother grins "you might even get picked tomorrow!" she elbows my ribs "you'll have fun then"

i gape in disbelief a her. How could she say that to me? i'd DIE if i was picked! im not like the other 14 yearolds in One. i have no physical training whatsoever, no survival skills, no fighting experience, nothing. im not even attractive enough to gain sponsors. Father turns, chatting with Diamond idily as we step into the black limo, completely oblivious to my horror.

"Quinny, Hon. Wipe that look off your face, it's not very attractive, sweetie." Mother bats the seatbelt away, oh heaven forbid your dress gets wrinkled while actually surviving a carcrash. My mouth clamps shut and my face hardens into a deep scowl. "that's even worse." she mutters, brushing off her beloved blue ballgown.

good.

the long black car started to roll down the road, taking me to another year's night of celebrating the murder of panam's children.


End file.
